Date: Fri, 19 Mar 1999 07:31:36 -0500
From: Dee Eon <Dee_Eon@email.com>
Subject: SHAMrock Stand-in: Stirrings
SHAMrock Stand-in: Stirrings
By Dee Eon
"You're all blarney!" my slighted eleven-year-old male ego balked at
Maureen and my other Celtic Folk Dance Club troupe; all girls from nine to
fourteen save me in our dance studio, only the looks of despair and
desperation in their faces assuaging my bridle of a major ego insult.
"Sean--" their pleas chorused.
"No way!!"
"Sean McCullough, you're our only chance!" pleaded Mary, which was
bizarre because the teen was always so pretty and cheerful. "Noreen's out
sick but you know your sister's solo routine perfectly! You practiced with
her at home from the start!"
"Only because mom made me partner her--just like how mom being friends
with Mrs. Mahoney drafted me in this club!" I bitterly snapped.
"I'll do your chores for a month!" Maureen gushed. "Two! Three!! Sean,
we've worked hard all year!"
Despite my ire I had to admit that they--we all--worked hard
perfecting our 1963 St. Patrick's Day Parade dance routines, which must've
been hard given the interests other kids had. Still, their basic disregard
of my ego and pride stung to the quick. "I still can't see why I can't do
the jig being myself!" I grudgingly contended.
"Sean, you know why!" eldest teen Aislynn said. "The grand marshal's
expecting someone to perform the traditional solo jig for him!"
"Well maybe it's time to break tradition!"
Fionna added, "We know how hard it is for boys to dance in kilts out
in front of people--"
"Yea, that's why there's only three of us--and now you all want me to
look even worst?"
"Sean, you've always been only a strapping lad to us," Caitlin said
like an assuaging flatter, only its intent fell flat.
I snickered. "Right. Like you all would've asked husk ole' Kevin to
take Kelly's place if she got sick?"
"They're not twins--like you and Noreen," Patricia mildly stated.
"We're not all that twin! She's got hazel eyes, mine's green. She's
brunette, I'm redhead!"
"Faking hair's easy and no one's going to notice eyes except up close."
"You're all nuts! Besides how you gonna explain being a boy short?"
"Simple; you just caught the flu instead of Noreen," Aislynn coolly
directed.
"Yea, nobody will ever be able to tell, not even Mrs. Mahoney!!"
gushed Eileen, the nine-year-old then stupidly tittering, "I mean we can
barely tell between you now!"
I shot her a hot look and everyone fell silently sheepish at her gaff,
all knowing that was a very sore point with me. My mind's-eye self-image
was radically different from what others saw, but it didn't mean I
wouldn't face the reality of mirrors.
"Sean--" Maureen said with diplomatic reverse-psychology, "If you
backed out we'd understand, but don't just because you think we'd laugh at
you--which we'd never do!"
I curtly demurred, "Forget my feelings; Don't you all think this whole
idea's sneaky and dishonest??"
"Yes, it is," spoke up Tara, level-headed as her voice. "But so long
as the grown-ups don't know anything about it, we've honored the Marshal's
special request for a solo dancer for his choosing us as lead dance troupe
this year."
"Look, what's the shame in saying that the dancer's down with a cold,
huh?"
"The pity's that all Noreen's talents aren't," Lori sourly uttered and
I was about to stomp out right then but their words rang true; the
troupe's colleens never snickered or giggled at my scrawny frame and
delicate features like the kids at junior high, and they never looked down
on me except maybe for Noreen, but then sisters don't count. Still, I'd my
pubescent male pride and a reputation at school to keep--which wasn't all
that great since both Noreen and I went there.
"Look, I wanna help, I really do," I demurred even though their faces
didn't swallow it, "but if this gets out I gotta face all the guys at
school after tomorrow and after that. I'm real sorry."
"Sure," Aislynn moved up, her pretty face drawn with valiant futility.
"Then right now and all night if need be, show me the routine!"
I snickered. "Took us five months to get our steps right!"
"I'd rather look the fool trying then apart when I could! Well?" she
asserted, boring into my eyes if to shake me to start, and I gnashed my
lip before the grim faces of a dozen desperate determined girls and
suddenly, ironically, I felt like a yellow-spined sissy even worst than
the one they wanted me to be.
"Aww, shit..." I muttered, punching my thigh with misgivings. "Man! I
hope the Hibernians don't catch wind of this!"
"Stop crowding behind us like you're hiding!" Kathy admonished me in
the middle of Fifth Avenue over the parade's din of brass bands and
bagpipes and droning thousands lining the sidewalk as our reels trailed
behind the watchful lead of our studio's matronly director, Mrs. Mahoney.
"Not 'hiding'" I sniffed back to Kathleen as I shuttled out among the
girls high kicking and skipping while step-dancing and slip jigs in their
full lushly embroidered velvet dresses and shawls and waist tassels, white
gloves, frilly white anklets and dance slippers.
Just like I was--except for one of Maureen's curly raven wig over my
own auburn shag and wearing boys' briefs instead of panties as a last
anchor of male pride.
It was sobering enough sneaking into Noreen's costume at the studio
before the parade and seeing how snugly it fit my slight similar frame,
but as Aislynn and Maureen briskly did my makeover I had to admit that the
raven-tressed green-eyed 'girl' in my mirror only passingly resembled my
raven-haired hazel-eyed sister, forget any boy or myself much to my male
pride's chagrin.
My sole comfort in all this, if you want to call it that, was how I so
totally and unquestionably passed as one of the girls in public. It was my
greatest nightmare that someone outside the troupe would detect some
giveaway male trait in my disguise and kill my social life forever, but I
passed with utterly invisible ease. It felt awesome and disturbing that
even Mahoney seemed completely blind at recognizing me even with my
un-Noreen green eyes and freckles. That Kevin and Bob in their black
jackets and saffron kilts regarded me with sober sympathy wasn't all that
surprising considering, but there was also a peculiar awe in the shy way
they looked at me which felt uncomfortable and unbecoming.
As the parade went on I felt ever more chagrined as my fake long curls
bounced about my shoulders and my full pleated skirt flounced high from my
open breezy legs, almost flashing my boys' briefs to the world with every
kick and swirl. For the first time I really appreciated why kilts were
woven of twill instead of light velvet skirts were! By parade's end though
I was too tired to care, but I still had one more thing to do, and that
was the solo performance that drafted me into this mess in the first place.
So before a grandstand packed with dignitaries and politicians and
white-tufted parade Grand Marshal Jim O'Donnell's chubby ruddy face, I
came forward from the bated-breaths of my troupe and performed the solo
slip jig I honed alongside Noreen. It was complex and very vigorous, but I
wanted Noreen to look good very badly and though I didn't have her innate
grace and fluid motion, the more muscular power of my tap toes rapping
asphalt made an overwhelming impression. When I finished in near
exhaustion my troupe broke out into an applause higher than the spectators.
Jim O'Donnell stepped his way to us. "Mrs. Mahoney!" he greeted our
beaming director, "What a handsome bevy of colleens and lads you've
brought! Your club's won the Judges Choice!"
Our troupe squealed and hugged in relief and disbelief, but my
breathlessness was startled as O'Donnell turned to me. "And you were one
most spirited hoofer there!"
I blinked aback. "Huh?"
"Not to mention being one lovely emerald-eyed lass!"
"Huh?" I blurted, smirking at the other girls muffing their giggles
before being caught in surprise as O'Donnell pinned a live shamrock on my
lapel. "Er, thank you, sir."
"My pleasure! What's your name, my flame-tressed lass?"
"Name? Er--"
"Sheila!" Aislynn blurted over my--and Mrs. Mahoney's--surprise.
"Sheila O'Riley! He--she's just a little shy."
He chuckled. "Well then, Sheila, my coy colleen; We want you and your
group to dance at our lingus charity reception for the Irish Archbishop.
Promise us you'll make that date, okay?"
"Promise??" I blurted in shell-shocked bewilderment.
Later on Aislynn explained what happened. "...So that's why I called
Sean 'Sheila', so's not to make you and Noreen liars about not knowing
about it."
Mrs. Mahoney huffed in exasperation. "Saints preserve us, you kids!
Now that I know about your little shenanigans, if I don't come clean to
O'Donnell I'm as guilty as you are!"
"Mrs. Mahoney, if Sean wasn't passing as Noreen to O'Donnell but as
another girl altogether like he thinks, there's no lie, right?" Maureen
reasoned to our musive matron. "It's not lying if we simply don't say that
Sheila's really a boy and that she won't be back, right? So Sean can still
dance at the reception."
"Wrong!" I snorted.
"You have to!" Aislynn said. "O'Donnell asked specifically for you to
come along."
"Mean your 'Sheila', not me!"
"Sean, Sheila O'Riley can't just suddenly disappear!"
"Yeah? Just watch me throw on my jeans!"
When I got home Noreen was strangely quiet in her sick bed, so I
figured it might be the best time to tell her since she'd be too weak to
chase me around the house. At first she was surprised then shocked then
angry when I told then she did something really shocking; she kissed my
cheek.
"I saw it all on TV," she sly said, using her remote to replay her VCR
of our troupe in the parade. It was so weird, just like watching Noreen
herself dancing.
"Sorry you'll have to dance for the bishop," I apologized.
"Why sorry? You'll be there."
"Sure I will," I said before her meaning sunk in. "Mean, not I'm
not--not like that!"
"You agreed to it and that's made O'Donnell promise the bishop he'd
see you dance."
"I didn't agree; everyone else did!
"And what happens to our name when O'Donnell has no 'coy colleen' to
show the bishop?" she pressed. "Mrs. Mahoney will be embarrassed and
forced to admit a lie she's innocent to. We could forget about being
invited next year's parade."
Grim and reluctant I nodded. "But why can't you do it?"
"Because I want to meet the bishop myself. Besides I don't have that
force and style you showed. You ought be flattered."
"Noreen, I can't pose as you again! They'll think we're twins--real
twins!"
"Not twins, because Sheila O'Riley's going to look a little different
when she jigs again!"
"What do you mean? I asked but she only coyly smiled.
I balked through the day about it, but in the end my fate seemed
preordained. Though I wasn't particularly devout, I was raised to respect
authority and religion, and the one thing I didn't want to slur was any
promise O'Donnell might've made to the bishop because of me. In one funny
way I felt smug and flattered that my performance was that good, but on
the other I'd have to assume the persona of my own sister's lookalike.
At least it was for charity.
"I didn't know we'd be dancing for him later instead of this!" my
humiliation muttered.
"It's protocol, Sean--and stop squirming!" Noreen chided on the
receiving line at St. Pat's, like the other troupe girls wearing green
dresses and dress pumps waiting to pass bouquets of roses to New York's
cardinal and Irish bishop along with a sissy curtsy--just like the now
chestnut-tressed Sheila had to do.
"Can't believe I'm wearing green tights and girls' shoes!" I ruefully
muttered, grimacing. "They're so tight!"
"Just be glad you're going flat-chested," Noreen quipped.
Despite my chagrin and misgivings it went rather well, and I even felt
a swell of delight as the cardinal received my roses and pert curtsy with
an effusive smile and praise. O'Donnell didn't seem to notice Sheila's
change of hair color or a semblance to Noreen, and that was okay with me.
Later after changing our troupe danced for him and I performed my solo
instead of Noreen and everyone applauded at my second curtsy of the day.
"Great, I'm through with drag!!" I gushed to my troupe later at a
refreshment table sipping punch when a man with a bunch of cameras slung
his neck sauntered over and beamed at me.
"Hi! Sheila, right? Look, I'd like to take some pictures of Irish
spots around New York for our lingus brochure, and between that lovely red
hair and those big green eyes, I can do with a pretty Irish lass modeling
for me!"
"Model??" I nearly coughed up punch over my dress.
"Er, she has to talk it over with mom--her mom first," Noreen chirped,
quietly stepping on my foot to keep my balk quiet.
"You're all nuts!" I scolded mom at home.
"It's also a hundred a day we can use," Noreen put in. "Besides, who's
going to recognize you except for some armchair travelers on the other
side of the ocean?"
Despite my severe qualms and misgivings, it turned out to be rather
fun traveling around New York City to pose for Irish brochure pictures. I
went to fascinating places, met semi-famous people and did lots of
interesting things doubted Sean McCullough could've or would've done.
Because Sheila was suddenly the troupe's star attraction she just
couldn't just disappear, but neither was I about to trade-in my kilts for
anymore skirts so Mahoney made Sheila a 'guest dancer' for special
occasions. Thanks to Mahoney's generosity and patience coaching my
begrudging attendance feminine traits and mannerisms, Sheila's poise and
grace modeling reaped nice checks and after six months even doing a few
ads in girls' magazines. Mahoney's beautician friend gamefully volunteered
to be my personal hairdresser and makeup lady which helped keep my wigged
secret from my modeling agency. Still it took awhile getting used to
donning dresses and jumpers and tights and smirking through makeovers,
though my male pride always wore boys' briefs instead of panties even when
some modeling specs said I wasn't supposed to (like the camera could tell
anyway!), but after a while the humiliation and self-consciousness faded
and it became simply part-time acting work. Mahoney with her stage
background saw no difference in my playing a girl or a clown so long as I
was getting paid, and the same view infected mom too.
Maybe too much, especially when I'd bitter fights with her about
Sheila taking offers to do commercials, which was one public exposure leap
my male ego was dreadfully skittish to dare. Mom badly hid her charm with
Sheila's looks and manner at my modeling locations, and I wasn't amused at
all about her not-so-subtle fanciful teases about "bringing Sheila home"
for awhile. So I spent most my spare time at football and basketball at
the "Y" asserting and reinforcing my malehood before mom cut down my
activities in fear of bruising my valuable complexion.
Despite these drawbacks I had to admit that Sheila O'Riley's lot was a
fun and exciting experience and certainly more than Little League; not too
many guys spend each weekend dancing or modeling at amusement parts and
cruise liners and Times Square and Catskill resorts and getting nice free
treats, eats, and gifts--even if some were meant for girls. I still felt
as macho-boy as I was before and so far being honed with girl-traits for
money hadn't too much warped my self-image, and I felt self-possessed at
keeping my "stage sister" as only a job separate my real-self until the
good-times came to an end once puberty mutilated my lucrative and accursed
comeliness.
"Er, Sean..." murmured Kevin almost like a sheepish child asking mom
an absurd request sure to be denied. "Can I ask a--a favor?"
"Sure. We're pals, aren't we?"
"Well...it's--it's kinda a big favor."
"Mom keeps my modeling money," I wearily warned in general.
"Huh? No, I don't wanna borrow any money, but yeah...it--it's kinda
about you modeling," he admitted, pausing, and suddenly I was aware that
he had yet looked me eye to eye.
"What about it? Another autograph?" I assumed. While Sheila was hardly
a starlette--at least not yet, many junior high girls knew 'her' face from
kid cosmetics and fashion newspaper ads and their brothers showed their
friends tear-outs to ogle in school locker rooms. Though I turned a blind
eye about the fate of Sheila's image after it was snapped--mostly to shy
the sissy trap of vanity and disconnect from any part of a supposedly
"stunning" subteen girl, Kevin and Bob couldn't keep from clucking at
school that they 'personally' knew Sheila and often asked me for 'her'
signed publicity shots.
Mostly it was who mom obliged them a glossy which I loathed with
chagrin and not a little uneasiness, being similar those Scavullo shots of
subteen Brooke Shields and Nastassia Kinski all guzzied up into sexy coed
nymphettes. Sheila's portrayed a teen siren whom you literally couldn't
tell was even related to me with side-by-side photos, though I at best
recall that photo session as seven hours of facial pancake and goo, wig
swapping and tight padded gowns. Happily most my modeling gigs was posing
as a normal fashionable eleven-year-old girl in jumpers, tights, Mary
Janes and scrunchies.
"Er, no...not another picture."
"So what is then? Boy, you and Bob been really acting weird!" I
chaffed his odd sudden blush, another sign of acting peculiar ever since
the parade a month ago, just like our once buddies-in-kilts camaraderie
now subtly changed. We were still pals, but there was now some reserve in
their regard of me, and sometimes I caught them staring at me with
perplexed faces as though wondering a wild nameless wistfulness that
somehow felt
"See..." Kevin gingerly began if mustering layers of courage to, "See,
it's to do with--with Sheila. See, I...I told some of the guys on my block
that I--I know her, you know?"
"Already know that," I sighed.
"Er, yeah...well, see...yesterday the guys were talking about going to
Carl's birthday party Saturday and who's gonna show up...and, they started
talking about the girls who'll show up, and they sorta asked me if I knew
Sheila so well, how come I won't ask her to come, you know?"
"You know why, Kevin," I sourly reminded, surprised that he even
brought it up.
"Er, yea, I know; Sheila only models, that's all," he sheepishly
acknowledged then drew a sober breath. "Sean, I--I did a real stupid
thing. I--I told them I'd bring Sheila to the party."
I started. "You what??"
"They dared me!" he gushed, hanging it all out. "They didn't believe I
really knew Sheila! Only that I just got a bunch of pictures of her,
that's all! So I said I'd show them!"
"Well, you're just gonna have to take it back!" I snorted. "'Sheila'
doesn't do special appearances!"
"I know, but--can't you just this one time?" Kevin soft-pleaded.
"Look, Kevin. I just can't, alright? I mean, I'm glad you kept my
secret all this time, but I just can't. Sorry."
"I'll give you my 1956 Mickey Mantle card!"
"I don't collect."
"Okay, my motorbike!"
"Kevin, I'm just not doing it--period, okay?"
"But all you gotta do's just wear her clothes for an hour--"
"Kevin, it's not like Halloween! It's hard playing Sheila because I
gotta psyche myself up into the mood to think and act like a prissy girl
whenever I wear girls clothes to pass like a natural girl. That's how come
I'm so good at it, but pretending it so hard wears you down from being a
boy. Sometimes I do prissy things or say dainty words only girls do
without even knowing it. It's scary. I can't explain it but it's true.
That's why I can't help you; I'm trying to keep myself together as a
normal boy, not half boy half girl, understand?"
Kevin looked sober as a grave. "I--I just don't want to look like a
liar or a loser in front the guys, that's all."
"Sorry, Kevin. I wish I could help, but I can't. Sorry."
I turned away and heard a sniffle behind me. "I was wrong to invite
Sheila, I know..." Kevin resignedly apologized and a pathos tweaked my
heart.
"Look--" I offered, hating for feeling guilty for someone's
depression, even if stupidly self-inflicted. "Maybe--maybe if I asked
Noreen if she wouldn't mind passing as Sheila. She loves parties too."
Kevin shook his head. "She can never be Sheila. Sheila's--Sheila.
Besides, she only has brown eyes." He sighed in surrender and despair. "I
guess--I kinda forgot who Sheila was really was. Even Bobby does
sometimes. Sheila's totally awesome to everyone. That's why we brag about
knowing her, 'cause you know what it's like when guys don't believe you're
the kinda stud you say you are, you know?"
I momentarily glared back at him, assuming a snide quip, but his
innocent hang-dog face only boomeranged his lament into the quick of my
heart. Thanks to Sheila's lingering mollifying character traits I was
already being called a sissy behind my back at school, and as good as I
was at besting some boys at sports, people were calling me a pretty
tomboy. My second biggest dread was that maybe being Sheila was just a
little too pleasurable.
"Kevin better REALLY appreciate this!" I muttered at home as Noreen
helped me into her old training bra over her tight spandex bodysuit. "Man,
do I have to wear all this shit?"
"My dress will fit better and you'll look a little older since he's
thirteen."
"Don't have to look THAT old!"
"Well, Sheila O'Riley's supposed to be stylish and sassy, isn't that
her reputation?"
I grudgingly nodded at her reasoning and reflected how I would've felt
about so casually donning girls' undies before steeling myself to take the
view of an actor or clown climbing into silly costumes and acting apart
yourself. Except Sheila O'Riley was no mere silly costume, especially in
mirrors which I consciously avoided during modeling gigs. It used to be
simply a do and forget play-acting thing, but now I found myself comparing
Sheila to the foxes at school and leaving myself at once smug and awed and
not a little troubled that Sheila was a lot prettier than most the girls
at school.
At first I reasoned it was probably because her appearing in
fashionable dresses was a lot more attractive than the ubiquitous unisex
jeans and scruffy Reeboks most girls wore, but lately I began to sense
some indefinable turncoat teasing my male ego whenever I saw Sheila's
reflection. It was crazy that seeing yourself could sprung such a weird
perplexing feeling which was vague, disturbingly delicious and teased me
to the male core.
"You think I'm getting sissy, do you?" I soberly asked and Noreen
smiled.
"I think it's sweet that you're helping out a friend."
"Mean a real ass."
"Still, he's in a jam and you care."
"I'm only doing it because I know how it feels having guys ranking on
you, that's the only reason!" I sourly retorted. "I wouldn't be doing this
at all if I weren't half-sissy already!"
"Or maybe stuck method acting?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you're a lot more sensitive to peoples' feelings than you used
to be and even take time helping people out."
"That's--just being polite."
"Even so you weren't always like that. Always so surly about being
teased about your looks and trying so hard acting macho that you were
turning hard and mean. But now, because you had to learn how to act
different to pass as Sheila, like acting gentle and speaking softly,
you're feeling more tender then boys do."
"You mean sissy," I sourly snorted and she smiled.
"Remember our dance at the burn center children's ward? I don't think
a boy would've hugged that little girl like Sheila did. I mean, a boy
might care, but he wouldn't show how much."
I reflected that day, that poor mummy-like little girl's tinker in my
arms and doing my own jig for her. That felt so--satisfying and humbling.
Here I was having private qualms over wearing girls' clothes and she
barely had any skin left.
"It's only things like that that make this whole drag shit worth it,"
I asserted even as my inner self prayed it was so.
I hotly wished Kevin controlled himself as I gingerly flounced
downstairs to meet his picking me up for the dance, yet I felt a weird
tingling teasing me giggle instead of chiding him for looking up my
skirt's chiffon bouffant slips, even if his vantage from the living room
couldn't help it.
"Hi," I said, feeling my voice somehow too shy and soft for polite
greetings.
"Wow--mean, Hi!" Kevin blurted, pricking my blushing ego.
"Stop gawking! Acting like you never saw me before!"
"Not like this! Not without a costume!" he apologized, looking over my
peach satin dress whose full shirred skirt's ruffled rim of Irish lace and
shamrocks hovered about my silken sand-filmed knees and calves and my
bowed pale peach pumps. I shrugged my pouf sleeves which were blanketed by
roiling chestnut curls that went with my own real bangs and ear ringlets.
Noreen went all out.
"Well, I'm the same old Sean underneath all this, okay?"
"Wish, Sheila! Man, you almost look fourteen--even fifteen now!" he
gushed, mostly over my snug mounded bodice and its breezy scalloped
neckline. My coral-glossed lips smirked.
"Better not let him forget he's supposed be a lady!" Noreen lightly
chaffed him just as mom walked in, looking nice in a cocktail dress
herself as she beamed at me.
"So lovely! You could be sisters!"
"Oh Mom!..." I sighed in exasperation and abashment before my friend
who'd no idea of my domestic identity crises.
Noreen chuckled. "Let's get Cinderella to the ball before she turns
back into a stud, okay?"
During Mom's short drive we heard nothing but Kevin's gushing
admiration of Sheila. Not about *my* modeling work posing as Sheila, but
*to* Sheila about 'her' work and career.
It dawned me that this was actually the first time Kevin spent more
than a few social moments with Sheila, what the hustle and bustle of our
dance engagements, and he never saw me modeling. So he was doing a great
job showing me just how much he forget who he was really sitting next to
and it was an eerie experience; on one hand I was flattered as heck but on
the other dismayed by how intense his fascination in Sheila was. I didn't
want to be curt and hurt his feelings so I just sat quietly, my folded
manicured hands nestled on my spread fluffy skirts and politely smiled.
When we got to John's house Kevin bounced out of the car to again run
around to open the door on my side, during which I leaned to mom. "Mom,
he's crazy about me--about Sheila!" I whispered in dismay of my seriously
deluded friend.
"He's not the only one!" she slyly said to my quizzical frown.
Carl's house was packed with spiffy kids and entering, suddenly I felt
a cold flush rush me stiff into a statute in an attack of shy anxiety. It
was one thing to briefly meet my peers while step-dancing or modeling, but
I never went social with them, at least not my Sheila persona. I was
especially petrified at being around so many boys so close. One or two
boys I could handle, but a mob threatened to shatter my feminine pose as
my gagged male ego gushed chagrin at my girl effect. It was totally weird.
I actually couldn't walk or talk.
I felt a gentle prod at my elbow. "It's okay, Sheila," Kevin gently
said. "Just follow along with me, okay?"
Like a mute docile doll I weakly nodded and let him tow me to a less
packed corner by an aquarium. I held my flat satin tummy as he took out
his kerchief and dabbed my forehead of wet makeup.
"Take it easy, Sheila. No one's going to bite you."
"I--I was about to throw up," I sheepishly admitted, still trembling.
"I--I almost lost my Sheila pose."
"Mean that mood acting thing?" he said to my shaky nod.
"Method acting. It--It's what keeps Sean and Sheila apart. It lets her
act a girl and him not feel like a guy in drag."
"And being frightened by lots of people upsets it? I figured you were
used to being around crowds modeling."
"I'm usually around grown-ups then, not other kids."
"Are you afraid other kids 'sides us could 'tell'?" he said in that
cryptic way that acknowledged my truth if for a moment.
"I--I don't know. Maybe."
"Well, don't worry about it. Believe me, no matter how up close,
there's no way that you're not going to fool them."
"Thanks Kevin. I mean it, thank you." I weakly thanked, grateful for
his keen sense. He warmly smiled and lead me to the refreshment table for
some cold punch. I felt eyes following me and glimpsed at a dozen boys
stealing looks my way.
Kevin chuckled. "You remind me of the frightened does grandpa traps
upstate with their big trembling brown eyes--'xcept yours are a nice
bright green."
Intellectually my male ego want to snort at his simile, but my pose
meekly shied. "I--I'm just not used to seeing so many boys staring at me
so close."
"Yeah isn't it neat??" Kevin clucked like a top rooster in a barnyard.
"They didn't believe me, and now they're all sorry!"
"Sorry?"
"That they weren't so lucky!" he said in a way that made me giggle and
feel warm. Mom came over and noticed something because she broke out her
compact and powder-puffed my face.
"There! Belle of the ball again! Having fun?"
"I wish Noreen was here to hide behind!" I joked, my pine suddenly
sensitive of my reason being there. "Sorry, Kevin."
"That's okay. Just make it up twisting--and no reels here!"
I chuckled even as butterflies returned to my stomach as he towed me
out to the jostling throng of dancers twisting to Chubby Checker and The
Pointer Sisters. But as soon as the song finished a boy, a husky junior
jock jumped in front of Kevin. "Next dance!"
I was startled but recovered quick enough to see Kevin's glower. "It's
okay, Kevin--you're my date," I said, meaning less to reassure him than to
dissuade my claim-jumping dance partner.
Nine songs and partners later, Kevin managed to jump back in.
"See you're feeling a lot better now!" he chaffed.
"Just tired," I wearily confessed through a propped model's smile.
"Feels like I've done twenty jigs!"
"Wanna rest?"
"Please!" I chuckled and to the smirks of junior jocks and their
sighing babes Kevin lead me to the kitchen then out the back door to the
cool starry backyard.
"Ah, great!" I sighed, taking my pumps off to stand on soft cool grass
and smiled at his puzzled frown. "I don't really model all this dressed
up," I explained, looking at my fake long pearly fingernails. "I mean, I'm
supposed to pose a twelve-year-old kid, not some teenager."
"Well, you sure look like one!" he said, pausing a thoughtful moment.
"You're gonna kill me saying this...but you're the prettiest girl here."
"So I've heard!" I tittered, totally missing his suave pitch. "Those
boys! You should've heard the lines they were giving me, asking me out to
movies and Coney Island and baseball! They kept asking me to sneak out
here all alone for air!"
"Oh," Kevin said in a low sheepish tone. "You were out here already?"
"Ten times! Like I didn't know why!" I slyly chuckled.
"Maybe just to cool off."
"I don't think cool was on their minds!" I tittered to his frown. "In
fact, some of them even tried to--to, well, kiss me!" I laughed the
confession off but he looked more nonplused.
"Er, did they?"
"Did they what?"
"Er, you know...kiss you?"
"No, of course not! Mean, I didn't let them, sure!"
"Good," he muttered if in vexed relief.
I tittered. "I just hope they don't get any weird ideas what's going
on out here this time!"
"Er, well, what's so weird about being with a beautiful girl?" Kevin
defensively rebuked, suddenly shying at my look. "I mean, you're--look
like a very beautiful girl, so if a guy did want to--to be alone with you,
it's only--natural, you know?"
"Mahoney only taught me how to act like one, not be one," I thickly
quipped, falling sober. "Maybe act too good."
"What do you mean?"
"At first it was only like posing and pretending, but now a lot of
Sheila's rubbing off me I didn't expect."
"Yea, I know; you're kinder, gentler, and happier than you were
before," he remarked to my soft ambiguous slight.
"Well, I don't know 'bout 'happier'. Mean, I'm a boy."
"That doesn't mean you have to be happier if being a girl's more fun."
"In some ways it is, in some ways not."
"But don't you ever get curious what it's like?"
"What's like?"
"You know, finding out what it's like feeling all the way like a real
girl since you're so close looking and acting it?"
"I'm really as close as I want to be."
"Afraid?"
I smirked. "Afraid?"
"Of seeing how nice it might be?" he asked like an innocent challenge,
a contorted macho pride welling from my lie, retorting;
"No, I'm not afraid. Why should I be?"
"Are you sure? Really sure?"
"Yes."
Kevin paused and looked at for a few moments as though unsure to dare
something and weighing mortal consequences. "Will you let me forget who
you are right now? For a couple of moments?"
Puzzled, I shrugged, and suddenly he stepped up and laid his hands on
my puffy short shoulders, and before I could wonder his face dropped upon
mine and alien lips pecked my sharp suck of startled surprise. I jumped
back, flouncing like a fluffy buoy, at once appalled and nonplussed, my
gagged male ego erupting.
"Shit!!" I sputtered, wiping coral gloss off on the back of my hand.
"Hell's the matter with you??"
"I had to," Kevin confessed almost proudly though sheepishly. "I've
been dreaming about it so long, I--I just couldn't miss the chance."
"Dreaming about it? You queer?"
"No. You're so beautiful--Sheila."
"Sean!"
"No, you're Sheila. You wouldn't want me liking Sean so hard."
"Same thing! Kissing me! Another guy! You a fairy or faggot or
something??"
"Then Bob's one too, because when we talk about Sheila we talked about
kissing her too, no matter who she is."
"You really mean that? Boy, this is too sicko weird! All this time I
though you were a buddy guy, not some--some fag! Is this way you tricked
me to this party, to try to make it on me on the sly?"
"I didn't trick you, Sheila, honest! I would never hurt you, and if I
did I'm sorry. Real sorry."
"Yea, well, so am I!" I gushed, holding a lawn chair as I slipped
Noreen's tight pumps back over my silken toes. "Man, I thought you were my
friend!"
"I am your friend, Sheila--!"
"Stop calling me Sheila! I'm Sean!" I scolded, bouncing out of the
backyard to the front sidewalk and jumping in our car's front seat with
slam of the door, containing my anger and bewilderment and confusion as my
backhand wiped my damp eyes. I must've sulked for ten minutes before I
heard a soft rap at the door. "Go away!"
"Sean--" he said as though my name were reluctantly forced "--I want
to talk to you."
"Go the hell away!"
"I'm quitting the troupe," he said, pausing if I didn't believe it.
"Hear me? I'm quitting?"
I feigned callousness but his assertion perked my attention and
dismay. Boys in the troupe put in extra effort and devotion just being
there that couldn't be compared to the camaraderie of a ball team. You
simply went through too much teasing and ribbing in school to lightly
indulge in Irish dancing in kilts, sort of like boys in ballet. There was
a vehement fire and love that kept you there dancing, like with me. I
couldn't quit. It was in my blood.
"I mean it, Sheila. I am!"
"That's stupid!" I snapped back.
"I'm not going back if I have to hurt you seeing me."
"That's even more stupid!" I scolded, guilt piling on. "Go home and
sleep it off, okay?"
"I can't; your pictures are all over my wall."
"So take them down, stupid! Gee whiz! I can't believe this! Quitting
because you like another guy too much!"
"I don't like a guy; I like Sheila!"
"There IS no Sheila!"
"Yes there is--if you let her come out!"
"Come out of where??"
"Your heart! The same Sheila I danced with! Let her say whether I was
wrong."
"That's nuts! I'm me--Sean, all of me!"
"Alright, then I'll wait till she comes out!" he fumed then slumped
back against the car door sitting on the curb, arms crossed.
"You're nuts, Kevin!" I shouted, angry at the whole tangled mess. I
couldn't believe all this!
A sudden drizzle spotted the windshield. "Kevin, go inside, you'll get
wet!"
"Only if you open the door."
"Don't be assy!" I said and the rain got heavier.
"Kevin, go inside! You'll get soaked!"
"No!"
It was the start of a summer downpour.
"Kevin, you're catch pneumonia, fool!" I yelled and when he didn't
answer I unlocked and pushed open the back door and he jumped in, somewhat
soggy. "You're nuts, Kevin!" I chided.
I gasped as he suddenly reached over the front seat and turned the
rear view mirror at me. "Look at it! Look hard!" he snapped. "That's what
you do to a guy, okay??"
He flopped back while the afterglow of fright held my eyes at the
mirror, at the girl nestled in peach satin and lace and curls on the front
seat. "You're gonna blame me for liking that??"
I wanted to retort, to deny, but flypaper held me as I was totally
taken aback. I always shied Sheila in a mirror whenever possible, partly
from slighting my virility and from a fear of seeing my maleness whittled
down to a totally contrary incarnation which most regarded the best of me.
Yet, ironically, my male ego so worked against me when I caught myself in
a mirror. Sheila could've been my fourteen-year-old cousin; pouty glossy
coral lips and wide emerald-green eyes fringed by lush feathery lashes on
a creamy oval face framed by curly wisps of coppery curls, yes, I could
see why Kevin called me beautiful because Sheila really was. There was
just no relationship to the boy I was or used to be, God help my
struggling male ego. And if a thirteen-year-old boy like Kevin responded
to that awesome effect, who was I to really blame him?
To behold Sheila by herself, apart myself, by myself, was beyond
flattering. It was...was...
I swallowed a queer pounding sheepishness. "I...I suppose I asked for
it, letting you ask me to let you--forget what I am."
"I always forget that looking at you, Sheila."
"But--I'm not Sheila!" I cried, starting at the brush of the back of
his hand against my velvetized cheek, stroking it, my male ego's impulse
to recoil from a boy's tender touch suddenly silent.
"Keep looking the mirror!" he snapped and my chagrin docilely
complied. "Say that's not Sheila O'Riley looking back! Say that that's
Sean a boy!"
Boy? That was absurd. There may've been a boy somewhere, but he was
obviously far away, his stalwart ego safe from slander and emasculation
even while beguiling and betraying me while I gazed back Sheila's angelic
face in awe as wonder grew breathless and fascinating and pounded with his
every brush of my cheek as a weird tingle seeped up my spine and a
tightness rose beneath my fluffy lap as though my briefs were straining
against my snug satin envelope and suddenly I admitted what Kevin must've
felt, what he must be feeling, what my faraway truth should be just like
other men and boys smiling and winking at Sheila the coy colleen model and
sassy Irish dancer which attention my male ego dismissed as blind annoying
insults, but which I now couldn't deny the effect of the lass just the
same of the angel my mirror.
My remote real-self envied and imagined I was Kevin back there,
anxiously and breathlessly watching Sheila revolve in her billowy rustling
crinoline slips to sit up kneeling backwards on the front seat, looking
back at me, a lost wistful expression on her lovely round face, her large
timid green eyes widening as Kevin-me leaned forward and her feathery
lashes shyly fluttered and knit shut, her coral lips slightly parting in
the seconds anticipation Kevin-me's lips pressing their soft trembling
sigh, gently closing them with awesome kneading osculation.
"Oh, there they are in the car!!" a far away voice tittered like a
hammer on glass, jarring us apart in a wild instinctive flurry of alarm
and rustling skirts to flop back into our seats, unassuming and realizing
the rain had stopped.
Mom sauntered up to the car. "What you two doing in there?"
"We were getting some air and got caught in the downpour," Kevin
explained ahead of my gnashed lower lip. "We ducked in here. It was
closer."
"Well, come-on back to the party!"
"I...my stomach's a little queasy, mom," I said.
"I thought you went a little pale when you first walked in. Just as
well. The girls hate you and the boys are scheming for you!" Mom chuckled,
climbing in and driving home, first stopping by Kevin's.
"Er, we gotta use the side door," Kevin said, looking at me hintingly.
"I got that baseball card I owe you, Sean."
"Okay," I quietly said, following him up his driveway and out of
eyeshot from the street when he turned and clasped my slim hands and
gently drew me close, and though I felt skittish and unsure I closed my
eyes and basked the peck of his lips on mine until the tips of my pumps
felt so tight the pain momentarily derailed my heady daze, the break just
long enough to give my floundering male ego a chance to flail out and grab
my wits and wrest me away from the sweet stormy tempest, almost physically
so because I nearly stumbled back, gasping.
"Sheila--"
"Ke--Ke--Kevin! Wait--!" I panted, struggling to tap my tattered male
ego to keep afloat, to not fall into the inviting abyss of awesome warm
snug affinities that he brought me to the edge of. "Kevin, don't! I--I'm
a--a boy!"
"No, you're not. Not now," He stepped up and I drew back.
"No, Kevin--"
"You like me a lot, Sheila. I know you do!"
"Yes--I mean--no! I like you for a--a friend! Not like--like this!"
"Yes you do, because you're Sheila now, so it's okay."
"Stop, please! Oh, my head's so--so--scrambled! I'm--Sean!"
"You're Sheila! Look at yourself! Feel yourself! You're a girl now,
Sheila!"
"No--!" My lips gasped for air and reason inside my tight satin mold
still trapping inside me the pounding taste of my first kiss and the
crazed butterflies fluttering deep my stomach and the drums pounding deep
my padded bosom. I was almost dizzy with confusion and clashing feelings I
didn't want hurt.
"Kevin, I--I--please, give me--time to--to think! O Gee God, I--I'm
so...so confused..."
"Don't be," he said, gently brushing a wayward coppery lock from my
cheek, "You're Sheila and Sean's Sean, and I won't mix that up any which
way, promise, okay?"
Gazing into his smiling eyes I feebly nodded as my docile daze let him
steal another juicy peck before a car horn beeped. My tattered male
instinct pulled me away and waved as I flounced on clicking heels back
down the driveway.
"Nice to see that Kevin had such a nice time with you. So, got your
card?" Mom asked with sly funny voice.
I blushed. "I--I guess I forgot--it..."
"You're red as a berry! Is there something you'd like to tell me,
Sheila?"
Mom never called me Sheila alone because she knew it pricked my male
ego to hit the roof, but suddenly it was on vacation, leaving my identity
and soul floundering without an anchor or label. I sat there quiet in a
heady haze, totally muddled in a sea of strange confusing sensations and
sentiments and selves. The only thing I was sure of was that my natural
but forbidden boys' curiosity of another boy's kiss conspired with my
Sheila persona in a fantasy atmosphere to perk my blind whimsical hormones
to nip the forbidden fruit by the excuse of seducing Sheila through an
imagined proxy of Kevin.
No.
Can't make-believe how it didn't happened. I can't deny I invited it.
Can't deny I feel deep affections for another boy--
No!
If I'm to stay myself--stay Sean, and remain proud as a boy, if I'm to
preserve my birthright and ego's honor and genetic heritage and allegiance
as a male, then it was Sheila whom Kevin kissed, not Sean.
Nibbling my slick coral-glossed lower lip and steeling down the drums
fading deep inside my bosom, I quietly and prissily spread my rumpled
skirts and put my knees and heels together and folded my hands upon my
billowy lap just as I was properly taught.
There.
I'm steady and ready now, I calmly compromised inside my settled
selves. I'm a-okay. So a-okay that on my next modeling call or girls'
dance I'll wear panties like I'm supposed to, just like all proper girls
should.
Because I'm Sheila now and was ever since I first dressed so today and
until I undress and go to bed. Tomorrow morning my brother Sean will wake
up afresh and macho without any need to felt weird or guilty from what his
other sister wears or did tonight with his close friend, my boyfriend.
No need at all.
Mom smiled at me and patted my folded hands and teased my curls.
"Sometimes a flower seed takes just a little longer to sprout in perfect
soil. We'll have a nice mom to daughter chat about dealing with boys,
alright, Sheila?"
"Yes, mother," I softly chimed in a world suddenly changed with
dangerous delicious wonders and nothing was as black and white as I
thought or wished they'd be.